My name is Professor Arthur Stengos, and I don't know where I am.
The last thing I can recall is that earlier this morning, if indeed it was this morning, I was preparing to give a lecture on Agronomy. I had discovered that a certain protein abundant flora found on the planet Necros could, in theory, be the solution for hunger in an ever expanding universe. I was to present my findings to the academic community, but I would never get the chance to. For several years, I had been aware of the organic breakdown of my body. I suffered from an un-curable condition that is known in our mortal coil as aging. Just last year, I suffered from a severe stroke. My condition was critical and I was not expected to recover. How worried my dear Natasha was. She held my hand by my bedside throughout the entire ordeal. I told her not to weep for me.
Each muscle ached as I prepared myself for my speech. I felt tense, as I always have when giving a public address, even in my late age. I thought nothing of it until I felt a spasm erupt from my chest. I felt paralyzed, I could do nothing. The spasms continued, each more intense than the last. A severe pain traveled through my body. My heart began to race. It grew increasingly harder to breathe. I struggled to reach towards the communicator console, but to no avail.
In that moment my life flashed before my eyes. It was exactly how people describe it. I won't deny I was terrified at the notion of never seeing my daughter again. I wouldn't be there for her wedding. I would never see my grandchildren. I would never know their smiles, or their embrace. I had my regrets, but I knew I was powerless in the face of death.
I then counted my blessings at that eternal moment. I looked back to my graduation from the Galactic University where I was top of my class. I looked back to the day I met my beloved Mercy, and how nervous I was to stand in her presence. I looked back to the day I received intergalactic acclaim and received a Sol Award for my research in agronomy. I looked back to the trembling of my knees as I proposed to Mercy that day on Skarrn. I looked back to the day my precious Natasha was born, my first and only daughter, a beautiful babe whom I held in my arms. I looked back to Natasha's first day of school, a nervous child afraid of the outside world, although I wonder who really had the hardest time letting go as I stood outside the school yard without her tiny hand wrapped around my own.
However, not all my memories were pleasant. I looked back to the tragic day Mercy was given six months to live. I watched as she physically decayed, but never did her spirits dwindle. Her voice had weakened, and her sickness had taken her radiant look, but she was the same woman I had fallen in love with all those years ago. My heart would race each moment I sat beside her, I felt as nervous and intimidated to speak to her as I had on our very first date back in University. In my eyes, nothing had changed. She was the same woman I kissed at the altar of the Zarmanian Church on the Singing Seas of Survia. We vowed that even in death would not separate us, as our spirits were eternally bonded. She was the woman who had spent eight hours in labor as I waited anxiously for the birth of my darling child. She was the same woman who I kissed tenderly on the lips as she laid there holding our newly born child. Her breath was harsh and tears ran down her cheeks as our lips touched and our eyes stood fixed on this miracle of creation. She was the woman who sang ancient Earth nursery rhymes to our daughter every night before bed. My Mercy was that woman up until her dying breath where she told me not to despair, for death is but the final hurdle we must pass to enter eternity. And so long as she remembered in this mortal existence, she will not have faded from this world either.
I passed these words to Natasha after that stroke. She looks so much like Mercy. Her gorgeous curled locks that shine so brightly in the sunset, and those eyes which glistened just like her mother's. Even her smile reminds me of her, a smile that I fear I'll never see again.
I am powerless to the clutches of death. My eyes closed shut and I felt myself resigned.
As my eyes reopened I found a faint light at the end of the tunnel. A violet light illuminated the darkness I found myself enveloped in. A figure reached out to me. A hand. I knew not whether it was Mercy or some higher spirit, but it would soon become evident that it was not a benevolent force.
The hand approached closer, and as it did, hideous talons could be seen in each of the dreaded creature's fingers. The unbearably cold claws sent shivers down my spine as they touched upon my flesh. The horrible voice of this nightmare man then emanated through the air. I could not make out what he said to me, but his tone was vile and his voice was haunting. From his claws he procured some sort of device from which came a bright light that seared through my body. The unbearable heat projected by this device melted away my flesh as it tore through the muscle tissue upon my scalp. I let out a scream of intense agony, before the creature injected some foreign potion through my veins—an anesthetic to be sure.
My body grew limp, and my eyes grew heavy. Soon the violet light disappeared and I was sent to a world of darkness.
I am not sure where I am, but I do know that I am either alive, or I have been cast to some hellish void.
I had awoken once again. I had seen no sign of that dreaded man, if indeed it was a man. I was now locked inside some transparent cage. I fear I am alive, and I fear this terrible spectre shall return.
I tried to move my arms and my legs, but I feel nothing.
I felt thoughts so vivid in my mind, thoughts that I do not believe to be my own. I began to feel anger, rage, and hatred towards this cage. My breath was harsh as it marked the walls encasing me. As the condensation faded away I saw just what I have become.
Before my eyes I saw it. My arms, my legs, everything was gone, everything but my head and my mind. A large growth protrudes from my skull and I can feel it pulsating. I assume it is this hideous augmentation that is keeping me alive. I looked upon myself and I am disgusted at the creature I have become. I was enraged at that horrid man, that monster that had made me into this.
This could not be real. In vain, I tried to break free from my captivity. I shouted to Zameron, itself, and cursed the almighty's name.
I could not bear to see my dear Natasha again. No daughter should see her father reduced to this. My worries were alleviated and exacerbated at the thought that I would never see her again. On one hand she will never see my regressed form. On the other hand, I would never hold the hand of my precious daughter. She has grown so much, grown from that scared little child into a beautiful woman, so much like Mercy.
Mercy. Poor Mercy.
I remembered the rage I felt as I sat there helpless by my dear Mercy's bedside. I felt her hand go limp, as her heart ceased beating. I listened to her dying breath, and I cursed the spirits for taking away my love. Why is she dead, and I am still alive? I felt hatred towards those doctors who could do nothing to save her life. If she were here we may still be one, we could still be together, and we would become unstoppable as the dominant race in the universe. But curse those doctors for letting her die. Curse those doctors who have stood in our way, our path towards total extermination for so long. Curse the Doctors!
No. These are not my thoughts. I knew early on her condition was untreatable. I knew it was no one's fault, not even the spirits. I was greatly affected by her death, but I knew there was nothing anyone could have done. It took years for me to come to this conclusion, to accept the loss and return of one of heaven's most radiant angels. Her condition was incurable, and that was a fact.
But what of my condition? What of my current situation? How could I hope to escape this cage? My reflection remained a constant reminder of just how bleak my circumstance was. I recalled that day at Mercy's funeral, and how sombre the air was. It was on Earth she was buried, her home world. Tears ran down my cheek as her body was returned to the benevolent mother of us all. All those memories and more were bequeathed into the ground beneath our feet. I remember how lovely she was, but for the life of me I cannot remember how she died. I cannot remember how her voice sounded. I cannot remember how her laugh sounded, or how her lips felt.
However, I do remember Natasha, holding my hand once more as Mercy's coffin descended into her final resting place. Her hands were large, almost as large as my own, and yet they felt the same as they did when she first went off to school. So many years had passed, but she was still my little girl. I felt her mother truly lived on through her. Her face was a facsimile of her mother's, and she had her mother's loving heart. She would always leave a mug of tea ready for when I arrived home from teaching at the university. I don't know how I could have coped were it not for my precious daughter.
I could feel this conditioning overwhelming my memories. I remember these things but little by little they wane from that of emotional experience to that of biographical fact. I remember proposing to Mercy, but I no longer remember just how I felt. Was I nervous, was I excited, was I confident? All emotion seemed fading, degrading into cold logic mixed with a primeval instinct for survival.
A warm tear ran down my cheek, and I held on to that sensation. I don't know how much longer I can hold on, hold on to who I am, who I was. But for now, every last notion of sentiment or sympathy, I shall clutch onto with my dying breath. Or at least the dying breath of all consciousness before I succumb to the Dalek Factor.
I turn my thoughts to the past as I awaken, but I can barely remember anything about myself. My name is, my name was, Professor Arthur Stengos. I remember nothing of my past life, nothing except her beautiful curls, her endearing face.
Natasha, my daughter. I do not remember much of her mother, only that she was a frail creature, weak, and deserving of her ultimate fate. I remember her hand wrapped around mine, so nervous and afraid of the other children. Her arms wrapped around my leg when I told her it was time to go.
I never wanted my daughter to let go, but it was inevitable. I promised her that if she behaved I would take her to the candy shop, and that if she didn't have a wonderful time, I would never make her go to that place again.
She had the most wonderful day that day, her smile beaming as she left the schoolyard. I knew from that moment she would grow up and lead her own life, and how that day marked the beginning of the end. I suppose all things must end eventually.
All inferior things that is. Everything that is not Dalek.
They should all be exterminated. Like the Thals on Skaro, so too shall we make it our purpose to wipe them from our world and the worlds beyond. It is the will of our master that we succeed in all things. Annihilation is but purification by fire, the great purging that shall leave only the Daleks. They are weak, they are different, they are impure, and they are mongrel creatures that must be exterminated.
I look into the glass, and for the first time in my life, I see true beauty before me. It is a reflection of sheer intellect, scientific ingenuity, utter superiority, and, ultimately, a form that will dominate all other life forms.
For they are different, and their difference angers me.
They will be exterminated.
We will exterminate them.
No. These are not my thoughts.
But they are, for I am to become a Dalek.
Natasha. If I could only see your face, one last time, feel your embrace.
This thought shall never die, even if so many memories have faded.
Even in my hate, I shall find love for my daughter. I shall feel her small hand around my own hand. I shall hold onto this memory. She shall never fade from my mind.
While hate may be a powerful emotion, I know love trumps it every time. I shall fight this ungodly conversion. I shall face this indoctrination with but one memory of my former life. A memory so strong and so powerful, that not even hate can overthrow it. The Daleks underestimate the power of emotion, and the sheer will-power of the human mind.
But even with this weapon, I fear I shall lose myself in time. The Dalek Factor is strong, and I can feel myself whittling away. Every passion, every sensation, love, pride, fear, all lost to the rage of these atrocious creations. I am to become one in their grand design of universal extermination.
Natasha, I am counting on you. The memory of you.
Save me.